


Bitter Green

by TheLadyAranel



Series: Bitter Green [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyAranel/pseuds/TheLadyAranel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she appeared to be was a girl who could not speak, yet knows the way to Rivendell. He is a man who is lost, yet does not want the burdens of being benefactor to a mute. Albeit, she sees herself as HIS keeper. Destiny however, has bigger plans for them both...bigger than either could have ever expected. SLOW-BURN Boromir/OC. Rating subject to change. T for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitter Green He Called Her

Chapter One:

Bitter Green He Called Her

Boromir grew weary in his saddle as he traveled down the old road, leading west. The journey to Rivendell had proved more difficult than initially anticipated; he found himself lost numerous times, only to believe he had found his way again, ruling that where he was now put him further away from his destination than where he had been merely days prior. Albeit it wasn't for his lack of wits nor could it be chalked up to pure laziness...the truth was simple: he had no idea where he was. Denethor's directions along with his wondrous discretion as Steward were less than vague. This left his son to bank on an old legend and leads that proved false. Boromir's journey had turned into a hundred days of meandering along the countryside, with little more to do than admire the wildflowers. He had been in that saddle so long, he had almost forgotten what it was like to use his own two legs—which felt like lead in his boots. At such a rate, he would never reach the Last Homely House before snowfall, which could be expected within a month's time. In which case should that happen, Boromir would find himself not only lost but freezing as well. He did not relish the thought.

The road that carried him westward held no sign of heavy use, to which the Gondorian believed to be a good sign—mostly for the fact that no one in the town he passed through mentioned it. He told himself that wherever it led to, it could fair no worse than all of the other wrong paths he had taken. Of course it was difficult to stay optimistic with so many failed endeavors, even recalling—as he attempted to remain the idealist—the saying which recited, not all those who wander are lost. Truly, there was no other option than to see the trail to its destination. Boromir sighed, reconciling to the fact that he would most likely be turned around once he reached the winding road's end.

Above him, the evening sky rumbled lowly. Plums of indigo and violet of the night sky mingled with the pinks, crimsons, and oranges from the setting sun which swirled under the cold hand of an approaching storm. The heavens seemed to cry out, its anger forming in the flashes of lightning which danced across the skies. It wouldn't be long now. From where Boromir sat atop his horse, the rain would be on him within a few hours time; cutting into his steady travel pace at ten miles a day. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he shivered at the drop in temperature, trying to espy a safe place to rest his tired body for the night. It wasn't until he'd reached further down the path that he found what he had been looking for.

Off and to the left, just below a drop from the hill was a glade of pines, reaching taller than any Boromir had seen. With such luck on his side, the great timbers formed a perfect cocoon, sheltering anyone who might seek to sleep under them from any storm the skies could summon. What was more to his liking—as if staying dry wasn't well enough—a creek bed ran from one end of the glade to the other side of the small wooded area forming a small pond; its source coming from the mountains of the east. Cold and clear mountain water meant he could refill his water-skin, replacing the bad smelling stuff acquired at the inn he had taken refuge in nights before. Boromir's horse could also drink his fill from the stream, which it gladly did once the reins had been removed and the saddle stripped from its back. Boromir patted the horse firmly and ran his fingers through its mane when the hairs on the back of his own neck stood on end.

Glancing around the Gondorian saw nil but nonetheless the feeling of having eyes upon him did not cease to send him into a state of paranoia. Even while setting out his sleeping pelt, he kept his sword at his side. Boromir's fingers twitched at the thought of having to use his blade—the sentiment of having to render flesh coursing over his palms. For wicked things lived in the wilds of the world, lingering in the darkness they called home. You could never be too careful. However that night proved to be something entirely different than what he expected. For although the sensation of being espied from somewhere in the darkness never amounted to anything, all the same it was there. Even as the fire burned late into the night, dry and comfortable in his small haven as the world beyond it roared with rain, Boromir sworesomething stared back at him from the other side of the tree line; its eyes yellow and otherworldly. Somewhere in the dead of night, a whisper on the wind sang through the pines... I am the lily on the briar...the silver hidden in stone...I am the moonlight upon the dove...the darkness from below...I am the song sung by Elves...the doom of mortal men...I am the earth and the sun...I am the lily on the briar...I am this and this and this... Carried by the wind which fell short of his camp, the voice was unlike any he had ever heard before. Boromir believed it belonged to the creature with the yellow eyes. He did not sleep.

That morning, Boromir dragged himself from his pad and groggily saddled his horse. In a haze from lack of slumber, he then packed his belongings and tied them in their secure positions before clumsily hoisting himself onto the beast and regrettably setting off at a trot back to the road. The earth was sodden; everything around him had a swollen look about it. Trees drooped low, their leaves and branches reaching out, begging to be dried and grasping at what little warmth the cold, distant autumn sun projected down on the land. It was colder outside that day than the one before. With each breath sucked in and released, plums of air burst from his nostrils. He could feel the heat of his own breath against his beard. Boromir never thought to be so thankful for his fur-lined clothing, nor for the warmth that his steed provided him. It seemed that day would be as long as the night he'd endured and just as quiet; save the sound of rain replaced by hooves beating against the dirt worn path. In that time alone with his thoughts, Boromir pondered on what he had seen the night before.

It was the eyes that he simply couldn't shake from his memories, for despite the color—so bright and luminescent, they were lifeless. Like a doll's eyes they were lifeless as they stared back at him, ripping him to his core and rebuilding him on the shakiest of foundations. Never had he seen such eyes as those, ones that seemed to hover over the darkness of the trees. They made him recall all of the horrors he faced throughout his life, starting with the death of his mother and ending with a prophecy of the fall of Gondor. Yet for all their wondrous capabilities of rendering him frozen, Boromir did not feel as though they belonged to any creature that harbored maliciousness intent. No not evil, but perhaps very old...misunderstood. Whatever it had been, wherever it may have gone, the only thing Boromir knew to be fact was that it had watched him lay there, never moving. It wasn't until his exhaustion overtook him for the briefest of moments that it had ceased its gazing. He was lurched from his sleep and the eyes that had been scrutinizing him had vanished. As if they had never been there at all...but he knew they had been. He had heard it—the singing. Though no one was there to confirm it, he knew it all the same. Dwelling on those events had him uneasy. Boromir son of Denethor was a warrior—a man capable of slaughtering anything formidable, tangible, mortal. What he was not was a slayer of mysticism and magic or things even older than those. Boromir did not like what he could not hold in his own two hands. Things like that made him uneasy and afraid. Peering over his shoulder, the man of Gondor released a sigh of relief to see that nothing but puddles left from the rain were behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling of being followed.

Somewhere in the sixth mile of the day, between walking his steed and riding, Boromir had espied from afar what appeared to be the silhouette of a person meandering down the same path. At first, he had dismissed it as a trick of the eye or his weariness—the day's journeying taking a toll on his already sore, sleep deprived body. But when he shook his head and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, Boromir was shocked to see that the figure was still there, far off into the distance. Strangely, he had seen no sign of another traveler for miles; not in front of him or behind. How could anyone simply travel through muck and mud without making some sort of indentation or attestation of having been there? Yet there was the person was, no more than half a mile off from Boromir now sat atop his horse, trying to make sense of it all. His conclusion—or his assumption perhaps—was that the figure looming in the distance must have been an Elf. Were they not the only ones light enough to avoid sinking into the sludge without leaving evidence of their trek behind them? And if it were an Elf, did that mean his conjecture regarding the path he took to also be correct? Was this the road to Rivendell? For the Gondorian, there was only one way to know for sure. The sooner he possessed that knowledge, the sooner he could be rid of this unsettling forest—of that incessant feeling of being observed. Giving a click of his tongue, a soft nudge of his boot, and the loosening of the reins, he urged his horse forward into a steady two-beat trot.

Even as he closed in on what he now could see was a hooded traveler, the natural instinct for them to look behind them did not fester. Either they were deaf, did not care that someone was on horseback behind them or—to Boromir's unsteadiness—they had known he was there the entire time. From up where he sat and from what he could see, it was easy enough to say that whoever this person was, they were not Elf-kin. Boromir's curiosity had caught the better of him, his mouth opening before he had time to reconsider. "Who travels a sodden road and leaves no footprint in this wake?"

The figure stopped abruptly, as though his voice had startled them; whoever it was, they turned to face him and although no answer came forth, what Boromir had seen shocked him. For it was a young woman, small in stature, her face upturned toward his. Not an Elf nor any other race but his own—by appearances at least—and a woman at that. Boromir sighed, pulling the reins of his horse to stop him so that he might ask further inquires. Like for instance, what in the name of the Valar was she doing roaming the open wilderness alone? The girl stared at him without an answer to his question. She stared with her insipid grey eyes...the dullest eyes he had ever seen. As he patiently waited this time for an answer to his inquiry, Boromir grew tired of staying idle. He was already put out by his condition and hadn't needed anymore added to his plate to fuel his agitation. He simply got to the point. "Is this the road to Rivendell?"

The young girl still did not answer; her eyes fixed now on the shield strapped to his steed's side, trailing then the sword that lay tucked into his sleeping pad for traveling. Boromir took this as a sign of intimidation and raised his hands to show he meant no harm. "I will not harm you," He said. "You have my word as the Steward-Son of Gondor."

A frustrated laugh escaped from behind his teeth as this traveler gazed up at him, her brows pulled together in confusion. This was going nowhere fast. His temperament was wearing thin. "Pray tell, is this the way to the home of Elrond Half-Elven?"

Her grey eyes softened then, her eyebrows falling back into place. She smiled softly shaking her head indecipherable, never saying a word. It had only frustrated the Gondorian immensely. "Do you mean to say this is the road to Rivendell or that it is not, but that you know the way?"

Again, her young face pulled together in a swirling debate of confusion, as if she hadn't known herself which question was answered. Boromir was forced to wonder how someone so green in age with such an inadvertent way of handling conversation with others could be left alone to wonder the forests. Pity is what gripped him then, his rage melting away at the sight of her. He had mistakenly taken her silence for slowness of the head. Trying a simpler more basic approach, Boromir dismounted his horse—taking note the girl took two steps backward for each of his attempts to move forward—and extended an introduction. "I am Boromir of Gondor." he put his hands up, nodding his head in a manner that he hoped would tell her he meant her no ill. "What are you called, child?"

Apparently she had not taken kindly to being called a child, for the same ridiculous visage where she had pulled her eyebrows together and frowned adorned her face again. This time though, she had at least made an attempt to communicate, albeit not in the way Boromir expected. Once she shook off his insult, the dark haired girl placed a hand to her throat and tapped it delicately three times. She shook her head side to side, as one might in answering a question silently with a no. It became painfully apparent to Boromir why she had not responded before. "You are dumb...forgive me...I hadn't known..."

Selfishly all he could think of was how in the light of things, getting answers to where—exactly—in Arda he was, was going to be more difficult than before. Watching as she merely shrugged off his idiocy, Boromir tried again, this time using only questions that could be answered with either a yes or a no. "Is this the road to Rivendell?" His voice may have come off a tad more irritated than what he wished it to, but the girl hadn't seemed to pay mind to it.

She only smirked at the lost fool and tiled her head to the side, slightly moving it to and fro it to indicate a 'no'.

He smiled wide then, his own misfortunes extremely comical in his own eyes. Boromir's laughter boomed in the stillness of the wood, all the while the young girl looking at him as if he were mad. He shook his head and wiped the tears from his eyes before placing his hand firmly on his hip. Boromir clear his throat. "I would say it is safe to assume that my latter query was correct? You know the way to the Last Homely House?"

Pulling away with the slightest of ease, drawing back towards the end of the road, the girl paused in answering. After Boromir's display, she was questioning his sanity. Slowly, she nodded a yes.

Well, at least he was getting somewhere; though he never thought it would be at the digression of a mute girl. Which he considered, would make it extremely difficult to receive directions. Unless she could read a map or write the way in ink; he considered this. "Can you read?"

No.

Boromir felt his brain pulse with steadying beats of a forming headache. Nothing in the world had compared to the trial of finding this place. Not a damn thing. Albeit after bearing in mind that trial, he was forced to wonder, how much of a burden could one lame girl be? That aside in true chivalry, Boromir in good conscience could not leave her in the wilderness alone—her inability to speak set aside—she was only a girl. "Would it be too great a good turn to ask that you might show me the way? I would pay you for your services if you'd like or at the very least leave you in the care of the Elves..." His invitation could not have sounded more doleful. He might have kicked himself for it—hard. Her answer either meant his success or failure; he may well have at least tried to sound more convincing.

Surprisingly, the girl shrugged her shoulders and nodded a yes. Unsure if what he saw was correct, he asked again—and again she curtly shook her head to indicate a yes. Her frustration releasing in a heavy huff, which was visible as her breath swirled in the cold air.

"Yes well," Boromir was still trying to grasp her eagerness. It was unsettling...was she always so willing to help complete strangers? How sure was he that he could trust her? Was he supposed to trust to fate she actually knew the way to Rivendell, when no one he had come across in his journey had? Boromir reminded himself that he hadn't even known her name. "Very good then..."

She stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting.

"I suppose there is no way you might be able to tell me what they name you?" He sighed heavily.

Her face squared up resentfully as if she had tasted something bitter. Clearly if she had a name at one point or another hadn't mattered. In her stubborn youthfulness she would not extend him a hand in trying to decipher it.

"Very well then," his brows raised in innocent defense of her acknowledgment towards him. There had to be some way of addressing her without making things terribly awkward in their voyage ahead. Then suddenly, a coy smirk pulled at the corners of his lips and he knew then exactly what he might call her. "If you shan't tell me, I will call you Green—Bitter Green for every time you make that horrendous face."

At first Boromir was unsure of how her temper might react to being called young and astringent at the same time, but as her eyes narrowed and a wide smirk sprawled over her features, he knew he had made the first step at reconciliation for his mistake in the first place. "Bitter Green it is."


	2. Twenty and Two

For the most part, Boromir was content. Green had proved herself to be an adequate guide, despite her inability to speak and Boromir found Green's company—although silent—pleasant. On occasion however, her disability had slipped his mind. More than once the Gondorian had caught himself asking deeper questions to which only lengthy answers could be given in response. A quick recovery was made each time nevertheless; moreover for all the sour faces she gave, Green seemed to be more accepting in her own plight than anyone Boromir had ever met. She on no account begrudged him for his mistakes in trying to converse with her. She would only smile at him in a way that reassured him no harm had been done. At least no damage done that she had shown openly to him, anyway. All in all, they had made quite the progress in their little sojourn together. In three days time more evidence of Rivendell had been presented to Boromir than in all the months he had searched on his own. His preliminary fear that Green may be misleading him put to rest, she had proved herself steadfast in her—unspoken—word. He was happy for her company, after being alone for so long.  
On the fourth day of their travels, after covering fifteen miles to Boromir's usual ten, he fell to his sleeping pad exhausted. His feet ached him so badly from having walked the entire day—for he fought with Green, giving up his horse so she might ride instead of walk—that all he had wished to do was fall into a fitful sleep. This however proved exceedingly difficult for him, for Green had not yet returned from collecting kindling for their fire; she had left well over an hour ago. By that time the earth had grown quiet with nightfall, the bitter cold was cutting into his frozen limbs which ached for the warmth of a fire. All Boromir wanted was to curl into his cloak and fur, forgetting about the mute girl and find himself some sleep. Yet there again was his conscience beating into him like the ocean against a rock, all the years of having gallantry shoved down his throat choking him into submission. So as much as Boromir sought to turn on his side and let it go, the better face of him groaned and cursed, grabbing his sword from beside his head and wandering into the wood to find his little taciturn pain in the arse.  
The forest was dark, the light of the sun just sinking below the horizon giving way to the shadows of the night. Within twenty more minutes despite whatever conviction pounded in the Gondorian's chest, Boromir would be sightless and the search for Green would be at a standstill. Even in the poor light there had been no tracks for him to follow—not the slightest indication she had even been in the forest at all. Just as it had been on the road the day he had found her and every day after. So throwing away the idea of silently finding her while bringing no attention to himself, Boromir was left with no choice but to shout out for her, feeling absurd knowing full well Green could not answer him. He had been at this for no more than five minutes when the woods around him grew darker, the same trepidation that he had experienced not five days ago, creeping under his flesh. He dared to turn around, his strong battle worn hands grasping at his sword.  
From just beyond an oak hidden under another great pine, branches reached out seemingly clawing at the wind, giving way to a sight Boromir had willed away. Golden eyes burned back at him, scorching his mind with a fear he had never quite felt before. Like dragon fire it destroyed his resolve, completely stripping him of any courage left in his weak body. It was as if he were in the presence of something far more ancient and powerful than anything he could summon with a thought, its will pounding into his brain. Tears pooled in his eyes, once more at the sight of a prophetic fall of Minas Tirith being projected into his mind's eye. Moreover the wind had picked up, the elemental voice carried with it… "Fleet as an unseen star in the dwindling meadow…Old as the hidden root that feeds the world…Hard as the light which blinds the lidless eye…I am this…and this…and this…"  
Boromir shuddered, unable to keep his mind settled. In a shaky voice he pleaded with the creature, "Be gone cur, do not torment me so. I have done this wood no ill and I beseech you, give me peace." It was the only time he ever recalled begging for reprieve from any foe. Somehow though, Boromir knew this to be different and never quite looked at the creature as an enemy…perhaps something he feared because he did not understand it; never once had it attempted to harm him. The visions however were too great a burden to bear. He knew his people needed him, that his father depended on him—he required no ancient being from somewhere in the darkness to relay that to him. Then, as if reaching into his heart and seeing the pain that dwell there, the creature vanished just as surely as it had manifested and to Boromir's shock and desperate relief, the trepidation gone. As if they had never been. There was only him and the darkness of the sleeping forest, swaying to and fro with the cold autumn wind. He gazed about, unsure if he had conjured it all from his own psyche—almost forgetting why he had ventured into the glen in the first place. His latest encounter with whatever roamed the forest had taken its toll on him in the most gravest of ways. So when rustling came from the right of him, Boromir had fought the urge to strike whatever it may be down, forcing himself to remember that Green was somewhere roaming about—if the creature hadn't gotten to her as well. He held his breath, releasing it only when the small figure of his lame companion formed clearly in his line of vision as she stumbled out of the brush, two fat rabbits in her hands. Boromir had wanted to reprimand her but after seeing the hares gripped firmly in her small hands and his belly growling veraciously, the warrior's resolve softened and they had—together—gone back to camp.  
"This is all quite good, thank you." Boromir had forgotten what it was like to have a full belly and a warmed body, all provided by the touch of a woman. For Green had proved yet again that despite her stipulation, she was well enough rounded to care for herself in the wilds of the world. Having built a very warm fire and whipping up the best rabbit stew out of practically nothing, Boromir was no longer pretending to be impressed. With such tender care and compassion from nigh a complete stranger, the Gondorian had nearly forgotten his mishap in the wood. He had noted in their short time together, Green had the ability to do that; put one's mind to rest. She was a soft soul with a tender heart, one of which Boromir believed—if she could talk—would be worn openly on her sleeve. Then again the man of Gondor had also seen the temper that could flare within her petite frame, just as it had done earlier when without much choice he had thrown her onto his steed's back, refusing to let her walk the entire day. It was time like those he teased her and called her bitter, all in good jesting. And when they were not bickering or silently trudging through the countryside, Boromir had made attempts in trying to learn more about Green, which was another way of trying to forget about the creature lurking not far behind them. Tonight however was different, for while Boromir was wishing to forget what he had seen—for now a second time—Green was staring off into the forest, the look on her face distant and cold.  
Boromir's distant worry grew closer with every second her features lingered on the tree line. "You have seen it, haven't you—the creature that stalks these woods?" His voice broke even against the crackling of the fire, pulling Green's insipid eyes to his own. She nodded once.  
"Do you suppose it means us harm, Green?"  
Her dark hair blew in the soft but frigid winds, casting shadows about her face as the flames from the fire licked the air. She gazed back into the brush and ever so slightly gave a way to indicate no, before resting her chin on her knees. Somehow Boromir willed himself to believe her, feeling more at ease with whatever lingered out there. Only one more thing plagued him; he dared not voice it, wondering if Green knew what it was that had been following them and if she too had heard its singing. Albeit he could never admit it—to himself nor anyone else—Boromir knew the answer to his query. Perhaps that was why he never asked. They spent the rest of the night huddled close to the fire and Boromir slept fitfully, his belly full of rabbit.  
In the morning that followed, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. Although dry, it was the coldest day the pair had ever endured in living memory, sweeping them up in a fit of teeth chattering and shivering. Neither had the mind to ride Boromir's horse, wanting the friction from walking to maintain body heat. They both had seemed to disregard the rather peculiar night they had shared and focused entirely on reaching Rivendell, where they might find reprieve. Notwithstanding the cold, Boromir was in a lighthearted mood—Green had indicated that within another day's ride, they would have reached the Last Homely House. With such news, Boromir son of Denethor could hardly contain himself—which Green had learned meant that he could not cease his blabbing and persistent questioning. Her neck was tired of nodding and shaking in responses to his questions. For the life of her, all she wanted was for him to shut up. He noticed this briefly and sighed, staying silent for a time before speaking again.  
"You truly are bitter and green—I have yet to meet a maiden whose foul temper outweighs her beauty." Boromir turned the tide, just to press her buttons. Her expressions were found to be extremely humorous at her expense and more often than not, she would unknowingly answer his questions in her silent outbursts of rage. He noticed her cheeks burning red and not all from the cold and harsh wind. "Begging pardons Green," he chuckled. "I did not mean to embarrass you."  
She sneered with one of her ridiculous faces and bit her thumb at him, indicating their conversations for a time were done. Boromir gaped and laughed, never before seeing a woman use such foul sign language. Silently he wondered what Faramir might make of her, this woman who smelled of earth and wilderness.  
Hours had passed, the earth warming only slightly at the peak of noon; the chilling wind still cutting into them. Green had led Boromir down a hidden path, one he never would have spotted from the road they traveled. They were close now, if their surroundings were any indication. The low hanging willows and ancient stone statues brought Boromir to a time long before his birth and the birth of his own ancestors. Awestruck by the craftsmanship of the Elves, his eyes were drawn to carvings in the trees that seemed to illuminate softly. It was then he truly wished for his brother to be with him, for unlike Faramir, Boromir was not a learned man of language and lore. Although unique and beautiful, the ornate sculptures and runes meant little to the Gondorian, which in part made him indifferent as well as intrigued. Boromir was a proud man; acknowledging misunderstandings was not in his nature. Surprisingly though, Green seemed to comprehend the ancient texts and symbols, her grey eyes pulled together as her hand ran the length of text carved into a great tree. Boromir stepped up to the back of her without saying a word, his horse by the reins trailing behind him. He never noticed how small her frame seemed to be…so fragile.  
"I thought you unable to read," he whispered. "You had indicated so yourself."  
Green never looked to him, her colorless orbs scrutinizing the words that lay before her, tears welling in her eyes. What she knew and what she didn't, hardly mattered. There was no viable way to explain what was or why she was drawn to this place. Truthfully, Green herself hadn't known. There had just been this desire inside her to touch the bark of the ancient tree; to feel the carvings against her fingertips. It was the only constant in her life—the only place she felt she had a voice. For among the writings she could not decipher, there was an understanding between her and the runes. Neither able to utter a word, yet through the deepest of emotions, the spoken tongue was not needed. It was to linger between the world of men and the realm of Elves, never fully venturing to either side…that was Green's place. She belonged nowhere and yet here…here was home.  
"You weep…have I said something to warrant your unhappiness?" Boromir sighed inwardly, groaning at the raging uncertainly of women. When she did not move from her place by the trees, Boromir found himself at a loss. Uncomfortable and certainly ill equipped to handle the situation, he did the only thing he could to remain productive. Securing his horse, the warrior went to set up camp.  
Early afternoon blossomed into a chilly early evening; though the ancient grove proved to hold more warmth than the old forest that had previously camped in. The very ground hummed with old magic, coursing through each of their veins, reining them in for a comforting twilight. Boromir had left Green to light the fire, for hers was unparalleled in the heat it gave off. Anyone with sense could see such craft was acquired only by living one's life in the wilds of the world, with no hearth to sit by or roof to cover your head. It was difficult for Boromir, to sit there and ponder these things about Green without any way of knowing exactly where she came from or why she had chosen the life she had. After all, the only companions Boromir ever had were the men under his command and in times of war as well as peace, they had shared everything with one another. This was the first exception.  
Boromir had never pushed his pestering inquiries on Green, though as their time together drew to an end, he wanted to remember something substantial about her. For without her, he would have never found the House of Elrond. Her pride and arrogance was a hindrance though, even if his intentions towards her were innocent. The only way he could think to get this imp of a girl to share anything, was by opening up first. If anything, it would pass the time. "Have you ever ventured to Gondor, Green?"  
She raised her brow and responded no.  
"You have the look of a Gondorian woman, tis why I ask…the coloring is very similar." And it was true. Green did share the same dark hair and light eyes that many people of Gondor have. It seemed Boromir and his brother were the only exception to it. "Sometimes when I look at you, I am reminded of my home…my father and brother. Had I mentioned them before?" He knew he hadn't mentioned Faramir, but it was worth seeing her specify so. It meant she was listening. "Aye, it is true…I am the eldest. My brother—Faramir is his name—I am most certain you would find his company more appealing than mine. He is a learned man, able to sign and speak many languages."  
He paused then to see her reactions to his words. She seemed to be lingering on them, debating everything he told her. "He is five years younger than I, perhaps ten years older than you—I only speculate." This is where he waited again, seeing if Green had anything to offer him about her in return.  
His hopes soared as she raised her hands, holding all ten of her fingers before her, flashing them twice and then two digits on her right hand. Boromir had only been off by one year, and still half his age. "You are twenty and two?"  
Green's eyes burned intensely, betraying her young years. For someone so youthful, Boromir recalled thinking; her countenance was of someone with wisdom and age. She nodded a curt yes, pulling her cloak closer to her petite frame. Shameless he wondered if she could speak what her voice may have sounded like. "Were you born a mute?"  
She stared coldly at him, her gaze cutting. For what she lacked in spoken word, Green had fully substituted with expression. It was the look of someone who had experienced great loss. She needn't nod or make any other mark for Boromir to know he had overstepped a clear boundary. He quickly changed the subject. "Were you born to the Mark?"  
Green's face pulled into confusion at his query, misunderstanding his terminology.  
"The Riddermark—Rohan! Are you Rohirrim?"  
For the first time in all his life, Boromir had witnessed a person laugh without the joyous sound of the laughter itself. Green had found humor in his question, gripping her sides and shaking her head no, all the while gasping for air and letting loose from her lungs nothing but silence. He knew not how to feel…besides pitiful. How many times had he laughed, at her expense, and she wasn't even afforded the same toward him. He scratched the back of his head and stifled a rather dry chuckle. When she had finished, Green's eyes danced. The anger was replaced with joy—short lived. For in an instant she was at her feet, eyes just as cold and menacing as before, filled with a glint of fear. She was staring beyond him and towards the entrance of the grove.  
"Green what is it?" Boromir turned to face whatever she was gazing up; his blood ran cold. He slowly stood, extending his arm out to keep her still, his voice commanding but hushed. "Go to the horse, Green. Leave everything where it is and go…I will be right behind you…do not look back."  
From the other end of their haven, a rider clad in black bellowed down the path, filling the air with a bloodcurdling scream. Green covered her ears and closed her eyes as tightly as she could. Boromir's strong hands lifting and pulling her away. "RUN, Green! RUN!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the warm welcome of this story. It is appreciated beyond belief. If it fancies you, leave a review! They are well received. Favorite/Follow as you please, those are awesome too.  
> Look for the next chapter, in which we take a look into Green's eyes and understand a little more about her. PLUS! A look at the other members of the fellowship and their initial take on Green. :)  
> Blessings -Aranel


	3. Imladris Part I of III: Questions Without Answers

She never remembered losing consciousness, or ever making it to Imladris. It was an unsettling feeling, waking in a bed that wasn't yours to be in possession of or wearing clothes you certainly didn't own. Especially when the only constant memory she had was one of a shrouded rider and then Boromir… Boromir! Green's heart was pounding in her chest, ready to burst. If she was here and Boromir was no where in sight, did that mean… Green had to be certain. She needed answers. What had happened?

Pulling the covers from around her torso, Green stretched out her legs to the side of the bed and firmly planted her feet on the ground. Standing, she crossed the room and pulled the door open, contemplating on whether to go left or right. The haven of Rivendell was a mass of intricacy lying out in a labyrinth of libraries, music rooms, gardens, studies, and of course private chambers. Navigating through it all would be near impossible before someone noticed her but nonetheless, Green was determined. Deciding on the path leading to the right, the small mute closed her door quietly behind her and scampered down the corridors, carefully peering in at every open pergola and doorway. Although many Elves were espied throughout, there was not a single indication that Boromir had been among them. Green frowned, a panic rising in her small frame. Where was he? Fighting off the horrendous feeling something had happened to the Gondorian, Green pressed on and turned on her heels to back track left. That was until two slender beings blocked her path, Green having nearly knocked into them.

From where she stood, peering up into the eyes of Rivendell's Elves, it was hard to remain fearful. For the gentle orbs of these celestial beings brought her an unrequited peace, settling her wandering soul. They were proverbial and safe. Just like the trees in the grove; they needn't speak to her for Green to understand they wished her to follow. So she did, for the moment forgetting about her Gondorian companion. Nay, unable to even think of Boromir, for the Elves held Green spellbound by their beauty and their familiarity.

Where they had taken her was far into the heart of Imladris, passed an open garden overlooking the bridge of Rivendell, from which travelers ventured inward. Dwarves, Elves, Men, and a particularly well dressed Dwarrowdam were among them. She had never seen so many people—their races aside—in one place before. For a brief moment, her mind fluttered to Boromir. Green watched with wonder in her eyes, pulled away from the sight only by the persistent steering of her two ushers. Scrutinizing each face, Green hoped to find him among the strangers, but to no avail. Before she could examine the visitors, she was whisked down another hall and into an open study. It was once there that she met the Lord of Rivendell.

Elrond Half-Elven appeared to her as a learned being, seeming to have seen more in one day than many experienced in a lifetime. There was also a reverberating resemblance in him that was shared by the two others in the room; the same two that had brought her there. His eyes were downcast into a rather large volume.

"My Lord Elrond," One voice from the pair behind her, made Green jump. "She is brought forthwith, as requested."

Elrond lifted his gaze from the primordial pages, giving way to eyes so kindly in nature that Green felt at ease almost instantaneously. "Welcome to Rivendell, stranger."

Even if she had been able to talk, Green would still be rendered speechless. There simply were no words to convey her feelings; at a mixture of gratitude, irritation, and right out anger filled her. There still was no sign of Boromir, or an explanation for how she had escaped the black rider.

The Lord of Rivendell gave a short nod to the Elves behind Green, dismissing them. Soon after they had left, Elrond motioned towards a seat in front of him, offering it to her. Reluctantly she sat down, glancing about her person and drawing in what she could from her surroundings. Despite the hospitality, there was only one thing on Green's mind.

"You wonder what became of your companion," Elrond spoke with certainty, disregarding any need for questions. "Boromir son of Denethor is well, I assure you."

Green's head turned sharp to face the Elf, her eyes burning with conviction at her companion's name. So many questions boiled to the surface; she being unable to voice them. In all of her years, Green had never truly required her voice, except perhaps for a handful of times and never as much as now. 'Where is he!?' Her mind screamed. 'What happened on the road here? Where is the rider in black…' Green's face did not betray her irritability. She was growing tired of formalities.

"It is good to see your wound is recovering. Understandably, the Steward-son of Gondor worried you had died. After all, it isn't every day an unspoken girl of the wilds impedes one of the nine." Green had the nagging feeling that Elrond was trying to coax her into something, even trying to draw from her some kind of confession…or jog her memory…

Green's hand threw to the crown of her head and felt a thickly fresh scab, crusted over in blood and Elvish medicine. Boromir feared she died? What in the world had happened? Her eyes burned as tears welled in them, livid. She wanted answers, not more questions and here Elrond gazed upon her as if she were holding something back! If she recalled anything that had happened, she wouldn't be sitting there doing nothing. Green may have been mute but she wasn't helpless; she would have found a way to communicate what had happened. For being welcomed to Imladris, Green felt more a prison than anything.

"You are no prisoner of mine." Elrond said as if reading her mind. Raising his hand he lifted from the table a decanter and in pouring a glass of wine, offered it to Green. She admittedly refused him. "I wish to help you regain your lost memories."

She pulled herself up straight, forcing her eyes to harden on him. Since awakening in her room, finding her belongings missing, and with Boromir nowhere in sight, Green was not to keen on letting anyone help her do anything. For all she truly knew, it was all a trick; figments of her imagination or a wicked spell. No, she would much rather forget and let it stay hidden than allow anyone to aid her when there was no proof of what he said. If Green were allowed to see Boromir, hear him assure her all is well…then maybe…maybe she could consider Elrond's offer. Until then, she would not bow to the will of anyone, claiming to help or otherwise. She simply would not. Green was beginning to get rather angry with no desire to hide it any longer.

Elrond took a deep breath and motioned to the archway from which she entered. "As I have said, you are not a prisoner here. You are free to enjoy the many pleasantries offered by my people." Green did not hesitate to stand up and make her way towards the opening, eager to continue her search for Boromir. She only paused as the Lord of Rivendell spoke once more. "My offer is still extended to you, Calen. You have wondered the forests for far too long in the darkness…you need but seek me out, should you change your mind."

She huffed in annoyance and stormed away.

"I am telling you Pippin that is not what it is used for!" A voice trailing from another corridor echoed passed the halls Green wandered. She paused only for a moment, eavesdropping out of pure curiosity. There were muffled words she couldn't make out, much quieter than the booming accusation earlier and then a loud crashing sound which caused her to jump. There was an audible gasp. "Look now, you've done it! How are you going to explain that one, Pip?!"

Green brought her hand to her mouth, covering a small smile.

"I didn't mean to do it! Merry—Merry! Where are you going?"

Footfalls drifted down the corridor and into the open hall, Green standing still against a wall. Two of the most unlikely creatures stumbled from beyond the breech, one rather upset; his companion trailing behind him repeatedly throwing apologizes the other's way. They hardly noticed the dark haired girl, continually bickering at one another until disappearing into another room. Green shook her head in complete awe. This place was full of surprises and not all of them like she'd primarily expected. Once the coast was clear, Green entered the room the Halflings had previously occupied.

Upon entering, Green had nearly turned around and walked out in respect. It was clearly private quarters, not too dissimilar from the one she had woken in but an hour ago. The only distinction being that unlike her room, this one had three beds and an open balcony from which Loudwater could be seen, giving way to the peaceful hum of the river. The light source of the chamber room came from the sun itself, filtered in through the tress hanging low outside the landing. Drawing her eyes from the beauty of it, Green turned her glance to the floor. The evidence which caused such uproar lied there, shattered into tiny little mosaic pieces. She guessed it had been a vase. Bending down absentmindedly to pick up the glass pieces, Green took no notice or care to what was going on behind her, out in the hall.

The two Halflings had returned from their walk, bringing with them yet another of their kind. The bickering had not stopped, nay, it had only continued if not more so. Their newest companion shouted at them both with a rather pugnacious attitude, calling them both 'pea-brained'. By then, Green had caught on and knew the only way to remain unseen—who would want to be caught in someone else's room—would be to slip onto the balcony and pray it led somewhere. Setting the shards back on the floor, Green flew to the terrace, and seeing no way out, shimmied up a maple.

"Can you two not find peace for five minutes? Constantly finding something to break or kahooting about like dandies!" The largest of the three Hobbits entered the room first, groaning at the sight of the broken vase.

"I'm positively positive 'kahooting' isn't a word, and in any case it was Pippin that broke it." Green remembered the one called Merry and then of course, Pippin.

"I did not even touch it!"

"Enough with the both of you! Go on and make yourselves useful. Mr. Frodo will hopefully be awake soon and then we will be back to the Shire. Is it too much to ask that you two refrain from breaking anymore of Lord Elrond's things?"

Green peered closely down at the scene, her eyes dancing with wild humor. The little folk were so immensely entertaining, that she almost wished to stay in the tree and for them to continue bickering. Her wish however wasn't granted and the seemingly inseparable pair of Merry and Pippin wandered back on out of the room, leaving the large one to his musings. "Never trust a Brandybuck and a Took."

For the better part of ten minutes, she sat in the tree and watched as the Halfling called Sam—he had a habit of talking to himself in third person she witnessed—cleaned up the broken pieces of the vase. When her legs began to cramp from crouching, Green attempted to shift her weight to give herself the slightest reprieve, when the branch began to crack and creak under her weight. Knowing what that noise meant all too well, the young woman looked up to see if there were any hanging branches from which she could hold onto. With none in sight, Green closed her eyes and anticipated the fall, which when it occurred, hurt terribly. Gripping her left side which landed first in the impact, Green heard the hollering of Sam who had been taken by surprise. Lifting her head from the fallen tree branches, she reached out in front of her and motioned with a finger to her mouth for him to quiet down. Once Sam had seen she was just a girl, he shook his head in disbelief.

"I nearly soiled myself I was so scared…what were you doing up in that tree?" Sam's voice was wary, his eyes betraying his hint of interest. When Green didn't answer, the Hobbit stomped on over and held out his hand for her to take, helping to lift her to her feet. Staring closer now, master Gamgee's face turned over to realization. "You're the girl they brought in from the forests, aren't you? The one that stopped the wraith! It's all the talk going around…" His voice fell into silence, recalling everything he had heard in rumors passing by. "A man of Gondor said you weren't able to speak—said you needed healing of Elvish kind."

Green nearly jumped at the mention of Boromir, pulling the Halfling close by the collar of his shirt. Her eyes begged him to tell her where she might find him, but the little creature was lost in fright. "Don't hurt me," he pleaded. "I never meant nothing I said to offend you. It's a great thing you did, warding off the black rider…terrible, but grand." He stopped when Green shook her head fiercely, desperately wishing she could say Boromir's name. Nothing Sam had said about warding off black riders stuck, just as it hadn't when Elrond had mentioned it. No one had proved to her that her companion was alive and well. A nagging sense pulled at her that she just had to be sure…there was just no viable way to voice her request.

"Calm down now," Samwise could see the frustration in her eyes. "I can't help you if you keep acting livid. I am Sam by the way, though from where you were I'm sure you gathered that. What's your name?"

She soared at his words when he mentioned helping her and unlike when Boromir had asked, Green eagerly looked around the room, trying to find anything that would indicate her name. Then next to her, she picked up one of the last green leaves left on the maple branch and held them in front of Sam's face. He seemed dumbfounded. "Maple?"

She rolled her eyes and shoved the flora into his face. Sam shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "Leaves?"

Green grinded her teeth, pulling one leaf off of the branch and pointed directly at the center of it. She could not find another way to be plainer with him.

"Green! That's right! Boromir said—" She gripped his collar again, the leaf crushed beneath her fists. Her eyes screamed at Sam, pleading above all else to understand that it was Boromir she needed to see…the only one she trusted. "You gotta stop doing that!" Sam hollered this time, his stout hands pulling her away from his person. "People will think you've gone mad!"

She pulled away then, letting the dead leaf fall from her hand as she wrapped her arms around herself, staring hopelessly down at the Hobbit. It was strange to look down on someone, she thought. All she had ever done her whole life was look up…

"That's twice you've almost throttled me when I've mentioned Boromir." Sam held out his hands, staying her. For Green jumped with another bout of excitement. "Is that who you're looking for, that brute? I'll take you to him, if you have a mind to see him, but you have to make me a promise."

Green's face took on one of its famous annoyed looks, loathing being spoken to as if she were a child. Rolling her eyes and nodding she willed Sam to go on.

"No more," he gestured to the broken branch and the tree. "No more hiding in people's trees."

She smirked, giving Sam all the reassurance he needed.

They left the room only after everything had been cleared away and tidied up. Sam, Green had come to find, was a stickler for cleanliness. After all had been polished and passed his inspection, they ventured out the door and down a ways turning right into another corridor. Her Halfling guide had taken her passed the same group of dwarves she had seen earlier that day, her eyes meeting the Dwarrowdam among them. She smiled at Green, who averted her eyes and pressed onward, trying her best to remain aloof until her eyes fell upon Boromir.

Passing into yet another open pavilion, Sam finally stopped. He pointed to a far corner where a group of Men sat drinking and conversing with one another. "He was out here most of the morning, should still be here I would reckon. Prefers the company of his own kin."

Green strained her eyes to try and find the face of Boromir, biting her lip. Most however couldn't even be misconceived as her companion and for a moment, trepidation filled her heart. If Boromir was truly no where to be found, then her fears of being lied too were true. She could feel warm tears trickle down her face, her body suddenly weak with worry. Then as if by some miracle, a familiar voice boomed passed all the others; reaching her in her most desperate hour.

"It was by a dream I shared with my brother, Faramir, which led me on the road to Rivendell." It was Boromir! He had been sitting in a corner chair, blocked by a pillar. Green's heart soared higher than she ever remembered it doing before. He was talking with who looked to be like men of the western country. "Though it is a wonder I had found this place…a little imp of a thing—mute by birth I can only assume—led me here. We were attacked by a wraith not more miles from here, and the events that unfolded still have me baffled."

Green turned to Sam and smiled warmly; her only way of showing thanks. Then, turning on her heels she ran to Boromir, stopping only when he smiled at his fellow men, turning his gaze towards hers.

Both stared for a long while, silent. Each stared as if they had never seen the other before. Clearly both had been bathed and newly clothed and the sight was one of mutual pleasantness.

"Hello, Green." Boromir nodded to her, gazing back at the others who were watching with little interruption. "It is good to see you've recovered. How does Rivendell fair for you?"

She brought her hands to her mouth and never moved. Finding him alive and well, just as she had been told…it was her highest hopes come true. She could never express what she felt. Then, as per her nature, she let the anger of being left alone to find him to take hold. He hadn't any idea how worried she had been! Let alone how it took most of the day wandering about half of Imladris just to find his arse sitting and drinking—making merry!

Just as soon as she had smiled at him, she glowered. Stomping her foot and glaring daggers at him, she stormed off, even right passed Sam. She was going straight for her room—if she could find it—packing her things, if she could find those too, and leaving Rivendell forthwith. Green had gotten Boromir to Rivendell. Their bargain was struck. She was free to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry all, I had meant to update yesterday but alas they changed my work schedule to 2nd shift. I will try my best to keep from having such a span of time go without an update but with a full time job and a toddler, things get crazy!
> 
> So I know this chapter will be a deal breaker for most- some of you thinking, oh dear god a mary-sue. All I can tell you is that I'm sorry if you feel that way, but if you wish to continue reading you'll find that things aren't always as they appear to be.
> 
> Also, I have mentioned a Dwarrowdam in this chapter- a female dwarf. She is another OC of mine, who's story starts in The Hobbit. She has a small part in this Fanfiction- I just didn't want anyone to be confused. If you'd like to read her story, you can find it on my profile under the title: The She-Wolf of Erebor.
> 
>  
> 
> If you wanted to be all kinds of lovely, especially to poor me who now has to work 2nd shift, leave a review, and please let me know what you think! :) Opinions as long as they are respectful, are welcomed.
> 
> Blessings to you all -Aranel


	4. Chapter Four:  Imladris Part II of III  Calen's Consent

Green tore apart her room searching for her clothes. Huffing and crying in anger, she threw the sheets from the bed, turned over the mattress, and even had a mind to pull apart the feather pillows. By the time she had finished, the room looked ruinous—she had found none of her things. Although she could admit to feeling slightly better inside after punching a rather well stuffed pillow, imagining her fist squarely connecting with Boromir's jaw. And maybe that was why she was angry in the first place: not at the man per-say, but more at herself for making it such a personal vendetta. There had been no reason for him to stay and see her wake from her sleep. In fact, Boromir had done only right by her, bringing her with him to Rivendell as promised. So what in all of Middle-Earth had gotten to her so badly that she couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that coursed through her veins? Was it because their time in traveling together had finally come to an end? Unlikely—Green enjoyed being on her own. So much so that most of the days spent on the back of his beastly horse—Green truly detested horses—all she wanted to do was to be rid of him. And at the same time…keep him close and protected. But from what…Boromir was perfectly capable of caring for himself…even if his sense of direction was next to nonexistent.

Falling down on her mattress—which was now on the floor—Green sat perplexed at her given situation. Slowly, her mind drifted from the Gondorian…somewhere far off and still untouched by this place and everyone in it. Green traced the crown of her head, wincing at the wound that was healing…contemplating. What had happened to her? She let her head fall into the palms of her hands, willing her mind to give way to the memories she had gone astray. There were so many things in her life—black outs and spans of time forgotten. It had been years since her last episode, and then along came Boromir and the rider in black. What had Sam called it? A Wraith? The young woman took in a deep breath and held it there, letting the oxygen run its course through her body until depleted, her head fuzzy from the lack of it. There were too many questions…too much she didn't know; not just regarding her latest escapade to Rivendell. No, this had all happened many times before, over the course of her life. Each time Green ran from it. She would run from her name, her home—wherever home might have been—and she would run from answers. And now in Imladris, she had been given the opportunity to have all of those desperately yearning queries put to rest, once and for all. There was only one thing in the way: Boromir.

There were no practicable ways to put her fingers on it or even begin to explain it; the Gondorian was her ultimate puzzle. From the very moment he had found Green wandering the old road, to the long week they had spent together, there had been something there that drew them to one another. It was a primal instinct which never once grazed upon the pastures of sexuality. Instead, Green put it to her mind in the likeness of moths to flame. The same way kindred souls find one another—the equivalent bitterness enemies associate with one another for thousands of years. Whatever the true nature behind it, Green was drawn to Boromir and ultimately—though never admittedly—he was drawn to her as well. It was by no chance that he had stumbled upon her that cold day and it was by no accident that she had agreed to help him. Green felt it in her very bones…it was this connection which caused her such agonizing worry upon waking and not finding him there with her. It was the very cause for her temper to flare out of control; wishing for nothing more than to garrote him. It was this connection, Green feared, that would surface in her memories long lost to time. The very same reason—now clearly able to think—that Green had turned the helping hand of Elrond away. She was terrified of what might come to the light if plucked from the bowels of darkness. Green couldn't face the unknown…she was too troubled. A knock fell upon her door.

Turning her head up from the ground where she sat, her eyes were met by none other than Samwise. The look they shared was mutual terror—the reasons could not be more dissimilar. "I think my first question relating to you and your stability answered itself." The Hobbit crossed the way and into her chamber, neither bothered by the act. He looked around, sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. "This is…a massy mess."

Green covered her eyes once more, willing the little creature to go away. She liked Sam, honestly and truly she did, but now was not the time for her to be reprimanded. That and she hated goodbyes. Green then pulled her hands away and held his gaze, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress. She was never good at these kinds of things. Luckily for her, Sam knew exactly what was going on. "You want to leave Rivendell, don't you? Even with those things out there?"

She nodded her head solemnly, more inclined to know about the rider in black at present. Sam had been all too correct when he had said it was all anyone was talking about. First Elrond, then Sam, and even Boromir were all conversing about what happened on the road. All the talk pointing to the one fact that Green herself had apparently done something rather amazing in all of their eyes. Most puzzling and frustrating however, was that she had no inkling as to what had occurred. And what should happen if she did leave? Would she encounter another one of these masked riders; possibly black out again? If she were to encounter one a second time and completely alone… No one had told her those beings were of a dark and twisted nature, but all the same a chill ran down her spine recalling the horrid shriek that bellowed from it. Broken fragments scattered in her mind, piecing together a mirror image of what had happened. Green did not want to touch it however; afraid if she did so she might bleed to the point of destroying herself. Again she brushed the top of her head.

"You don't remember, do you?" For such a small and portly little creature and of so few words, Master Gamgee was quick to pick up on the conditions of others. You would have never guessed such a Hobbit was a gardener by trade.

Green shook her head, letting her hand fall to her side, pulling her legs close to her chest. She honestly didn't know what she wanted anymore or what she could and could not remember. Caught between a rock and a hard place, the only thing she could be absolutely certain of was the fact that something inside of her was gnawing its way to the surface. Since arriving in Imladris—even in her dreams—she was haunted by images she never recalled bearing in mind, pushing them aside for the sake of finding her fool of a travel companion. And now that he was safe and well and Green had seen it with her own eyes, the pushback of everything she repressed was plowing through the ingress of her mind's eye; causing her great pain and uneasiness. For somewhere in the darkness of her soul, a pair of yellow eyes bore into her, cutting away flesh, bone, and life… There was so much anger and betrayal… so much pain.

"I know someone who might be able to help you…" The voice of Sam brought Green out of her trance, saving her from the darkness within. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "Gandalf the wizard…he uh…could maybe help you…"

The look that sprawled across her face was one of dumbfounded awe. There was a wizard here, in Imladris? How did Sam know that, and more to the point, why in Arda would he be willingly to help her? Moreover, why had Elrond been willing to help her? Why had anyone given thought to fact that she might need help? For how many years did she roam the old forest and not once was she extended a hand in helping her find out her past, forgetting the fact of what had recently happened to her. Green was a simple girl, with not much need for assistance from anyone—obviously never having it extended before. So why…why now? One didn't simply evade the eyes of Elves—they had to have known she had been out there, in their ancient lands. That she often found refuge in that ancient grove, often camping there for her many nights spent in the wilderness.

"It wouldn't hurt, you know." Sam leaned against a wall in the room, tucking his one stubby leg behind another, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you decide against it, no one is going keep you here. You know that don't you? The Elves aren't here to impose on anyone…everyone is here for the One Ring."

She stared at him, pursing her lips and raising her brow to question his legitimacy on the subject. Clearly she found it hard to believe anyone would summon peoples from the far corners of Middle-Earth to hold a council over a piece of jewelry. There was nothing that happened to her that could hold a candle to the idiocy that poured from Sam's mouth. Her hesitance was not lost on him. Now it was his turn to wear the same mask. "You truly have no idea do you? The rider in black…what they are?"

Popping her jaw, she shrugged. If Green had known, she wouldn't have been sitting there, wearing the expressions she had. People always felt the need to repeat themselves to her, as if she were deaf instead of mute. It was another thing she loathed; people took her for a simpleton or so it sometimes felt. Sam sighed. "Green, I really do think you need to speak with Gandalf…"

Following the Hobbit out of her chambers, leaving the mess behind her, Green rubbed her arms to gain some warmth back. From inside her room, the heat of enclosed walls kept the late autumn chill at bay. Outside however, late afternoon was springing into early evening and she desperately wished she had her cloak to cover the thin fabric of her dress. Apparently, Elves didn't feel the change of seasons as mortals did…nor did they have a sense for foot ware, which Green had subsequently been left without. Her toes were numb; giving way to the envy which coursed through her, seeing Sam's own wooly feet covered by the warmth of hair and leather-like soles. Green was thankful when they entered a room, the warmth of a hearth giving the floor at least some kind of heat.

Sitting up in a bed was yet another Halfling, pale and weak in the face, conversing lowly with an elderly man with brushy eyebrows and a kindness that was not lost on Green. It was the Hobbit who peered towards the door way first. "Sam!"

"Mr. Frodo, bless you, you're awake!" The reunion of the two Halflings was a sight that warmed the coldness inside Green, who until that point had been reluctantly following Sam. Seeing the joy on Gamgee's face was enough for Green to have reconsidered her ill attitude for being dragged along. She knew the relief he had felt in seeing Frodo awake, for that is all she sought out that day in relation to Boromir. It is what she had hoped for when her eyes had finally opened. Instead, all she had to gaze at were the empty walls of her four cornered room—all alone. Frodo was a very lucky Hobbit to have such loyal friends and companions.

"Thanks be to Lord Elrond." The wizard smiled, looking behind him at the Lord of Rivendell, who had been standing in the distance of the room looking upon all of them. "A few more hours and you have been beyond anyone's aid."

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins." Elrond smiled down at the Hobbit, while Green popped her jaw yet again in annoyance. That greeting sounded too familiar for her to even begin to find it genuine. She wondered to herself how many times he had said that to all of the travelers that now graced his halls.

From somewhere outside the chambers, a booming female voice echoed passed, pressing itself to where they all stood dumbfounded. Recognizable as the Dwarrowdam from the bridge and again in the pavilion, Green was beginning to feel like the only stranger in a strange place. She was nearly pushed aside as the She-Dwarf grinned from ear to ear, trotting over to the Hobbit and sitting too close for comfort on his bed. "So this is Frodo Baggins…yes of course it is! You look just the way Bilbo had naught but sixty years ago."

Green bit her lip, holding back the face of laughter as Frodo coyly looked over to Gandalf, whose eyes shifted between him and the Dwarf. His eyes pleaded for an introduction, not wanting to appear ignorant of those around him. If it had been Green, she would have made it clear that upon waking, she would have not wanted to be bombarded with strangers sitting atop her bed. Though she too was curious on whom the small woman was…

"Beryl, daughter of Dain, wife of Fíli—Queen under the Mountain," Gandalf explain. "Was one of the fifteen companions in the expedition to reclaim the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor; a dear friend of your uncle."

Green's eyes widened, least of all expecting what she had just heard: A queen? Surely this was all a dream, a wicked trick. She peered at Frodo, who looked as though the Valar were standing before him. Beryl patted his hand, speaking something indecipherable in the tongue of her people. Then as soon as she had burst into the room, she had stood, bowed her head to the Hobbit and left; not without smiling again at the girl in the corner. Green huffed, crossing her arms over her sides. She should have left when she had the chance.

"That was unexpected." Frodo's eyes lingered on the door, unable to grasp everything that had happened. Green understood the feeling. "And who is this?" His gaze now pinned on her.

For the first time since entering, all four pairs of eyes in the room were on Green, who raised a brow in defiance.

"Green," Sam gave a smile nod and a smile in her direction. "Another guest of Lord Elrond." Conveniently, he had left out the part everyone else was ranting about.

"Hello," Frodo shifted in his bed, smiling weakly. "How are you finding Rivendell?"

Green smiled back, unable to respond. She looked to Sam, nodding for him to speak on her behalf. "She can't speak, Mr. Frodo. Green is a mute. She arrived in Rivendell with a man named Boromir, of Gondor."

The healing Hobbit lowered his staring eyes. "I'm sorry, I did not know."

Biting down on her lip, Green watched him carefully as Sam rested a hand on his shoulder. "That's all right Mr. Frodo. She was here to see Gandalf is all."

The old man turned in his seat then, resting his hand that held a pipe on the arm of the chair he sat in. "Oh? And what can an old man do to be of assistance?"

Green had been moved yet again, this time in toe with Gandalf and Elrond. Beginning to grow increasingly fed up. The only good that came from being in the company of Elrond for a second time was she had finally acquired a pair of silk slippers and a cloak to keep her warm and promised her old belongings would be replaced with new. The Lord of Rivendell also insinuated that he would rather appreciate it if Green would refrain from destroying her rooms again; that if she had only asked, the matter would have happily been explained. It was in Elrond's personally library that their little saunter had ended.

This time when Elrond had poured a glass of wine, Green had eagerly taken it in her small hand, drinking deeply. Whether in a desperate measure to ease her headache or drowned out the insanity around her, it didn't really matter. The sweetness of the rose colored liquid had done all she had hoped and more. With no restraint, Green held out the glass again for the Elf to refill. When he had, eyeing her carefully, it was Gandalf who was the first to speak. "I've heard much of the voiceless maiden of the wild upon my arrival. I will be the first to admit, this is not what I expected."

Elrond nodded in agreement, the pair of them summing Green up as she nonchalantly sipped from her flute. "Many questions in need of answering, I would say. Questions that she cannot answer and even if she could, I'm afraid it would be impossible—she remembers nothing. The only recollections of the events I've received were delivered to me by Boromir of Gondor and Rivendell's scouts."

Green ran her tongue over her teeth, listening carefully to the conversation that was clearly involving her, though not including. She had the nagging feeling the wizard did not trust her.

"The eyes of the enemy are everywhere, Lord Elrond." Gandalf took out his pipe once more, filling the bowl. "It wouldn't be the first puppet Saruman had on his strings…there is only way sure way to tell."

The Lord of Rivendell sighed deeply, looking down on Imladris from high above, his eyes fixing on Green who was still sipping her wine. "I have extended my hand in aiding Calen. I will not force a scrying Gandalf…not when things are so uncertain."

Now they had her attention. A scrying is how Elrond was going to help her? Peering into her mind and pulling from it all of her deepest memories? A panic rose in her belly, coiling around itself like a cold snake. Everything that had buried deep and forgotten…

"It is a risk worth taking," The wizard boomed. "It is Frodo and The Ring we are putting against the word of the son of Denethor?"

The Lord of Rivendell matched him. "And the word of mine own people, Gandalf… I will not scry her without consent."

Both stared down at her, as if waiting for her to indicate some kind of answer to a question indirectly asked. Her fingers and toes tingled from the wine. Trying to sum up the very vague bantering between the two of them, Green closed her eyes. Was she ready for any of this? With talk of a war, a ring, a Dark Lord, black riders, and a wizard called Saruman, her own problems seemed so small. Perhaps if she could reconcile to her past, Green could move on and leave this madness behind her…

"Calen?" The voice of Elrond brought her back to the present.

Staring him inch for inch, Green sucked in a hard, deep breath and with the heaviest of hearts, she nodded, giving way to consent for a scrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So Beryl is introduced in this chapter briefly and she may have a scene or two with Green in the next chapter. After that, she won't arrive until the next book.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed and Favorited/Followed. Means the world guys. If you do happen to fav/follow, just leave a review! They mean the world, seriously. Give thoughts, ideas, ect. :D
> 
> Blessings -Aranel

**Author's Note:**

> Please understand I am not being pugnacious when I say this: I am a fan of the movies and books alike, but am I perfect and do I know everything about them? NO. I DO NOT. So with that said, save your raging flames if you will-I simply will not read them. This is a fanfiction based on a character I wished to use and create and give life to-not yours to tell me how awful YOU THINK she is. For those of you reading this, seeking pure enjoyment and feel the need or want to comment or review, I will take constructive criticism as well as the next author.
> 
> On THAT note: I don't really care whether if this fiction is considered tenth-walker or whatever it is called. She isn't traveling with the fellowship because of Frodo or the Ring: You will find out why if you continue to read. I will give nothing away, but understand EVERYTHING I write that is vague or seems to be totally random will be explained. This is a story with a purpose and a plot and an end. Give me credit...this is the first fic I ever wrote at 13-obviously a bit different since then-but it has been years and years in the making. Remastered, I have at least seven chapters I can post of this before I start re-writing which is what I am undertaking at the moment.
> 
> Please do not expect this to be perfect Tolkien lore, alright? For instance, I refer to Boromir as a 'Gondorian' though nowhere is that ever used as a proper term for those people. Some readers can be assholes, if shit like that bothers you, just don't read it.
> 
> This is a slow burn I guess you could say. I wrote it with the idea of friendship being the core of the first book *yes this is an installment of three fanfiction 'books'* and if you ask me, people don't fall in love without having friendship first. So kiss my lily white butt if you disagree. LOL.
> 
> This might be considered AU- if you consider Boromir living to be AU. I don't know. Anyway, I'm going to let you read now. If you feel the want to leave a review, you shall make my heart soar.
> 
> Really, I'm not a jerk like I sound above...I just hate when people bash others' hard works. Just be respectful and even if you can't: Blessing to you all. -Aranel


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